Illecebrous
by murcuh
Summary: Winry shares an intimate moment with Edward, but startling nightmares afterwards leaves her shaking. A Mature 2nd person POV story.


**Illecebrous **

_By murcuh_

**Rating: **Mature (seriously kiddies – it's a little intense… I really hope I don't get kicked off for this, haha)

**POV:** 2nd person (I imagined this as like talking to Winry)

**Pairings:** EdWin (My OTP)

**Genre:** Romance/Hurt/Comfort/Horror

**Summary:** "He slightly murmurs into your mouth – you almost think he's speaking your name. Like a prayer; one that can deliver him from sorrow and suffering." You share an intimate moment with Edward, but startling nightmares afterwards leave you shaking.

**Disclaimer:** Pshaw, yeah right I own Fullmetal Alchemist. I'm not as awesome as Arakawa (I'm glad she was born though, wewts).

**A/N:** Okay, okay, I don't really know. I've never written an EdWin fanfic before – much less one that's so… _mature_. I'm sorry to those who expected me to continue on _Fruits Basket_, _Fullmetal Alchemist_ has surely taken over my life and it is one of the dearest things in my heart. I imagined them as not having children yet… but they are married. "Illecebrous" is an obsolete word meaning "alluring" and "enticing", I felt it was appropriate… despite the circumstances following said encounter. Feel free to favorite, or review, or whatever. I'd like to get at least a little good feedback from this. Ahh… I feel like this might be awful, but that's just my anxiety.

* * *

><p>You watch as your husband of eight years comes barreling down the stairs, hands full of scraps of paper. You slowly put down your tinkering tools as he trots to the desk by the window and starts sorting through the mess of his alchemic research notes. You study his back and his arm muscles as they sift through years worth of material. Your spine tingles knowing that you can be held in those arms any time you want.<p>

"Ed," you call out to him, rising from your space at the kitchen table, leaving behind the broken clock you are trying to fix.

But your husband doesn't reply; he's too caught up in what he's doing. It seems like something important.

Fluidly, you skip over to him and place your hands on his back.

"Hmm?" He replies to your touch. But he keeps looking for whatever he needs. You see papers with the words _Human Transmutation_ and it makes you a bit nervous.

"What are you searching for?" You ask, rubbing your fingers up and down his muscled back. His skin flexes in response and you feel goose bumps pimple on your skin.

He finally stops and turns around to grin down at you, "General Buttface told me about his plans for the alchemy academy. He wants any information I have that he thinks might be important for them to turn into a textbook."

You smile up at him, "That sounds great, Ed."

He chuckles, "I mean, I can't even do alchemy anymore and yet I'm still obsessed." He runs a hand through his golden hair, slightly embarrassed.

"You'll always be my alchemy freak." You murmur, bringing up his other hand to your lips. You close your eyes and kiss his callused hands softly. He watches you intently, eyes steadily widening as you turn his hand and move your lips across his palm. His pulse beats under your touch and it entrances you.

His body fascinates you: the sheer strength and damage he is capable of, and yet the passionate and gentle embrace saved only for you. Years of hardship he has accumulated but still skilled enough to touch you so gently it sends you over the edge. You shiver knowing just how much you love this man, this other human being.

He jolts you out of your reverie by calling out your name and your eyes snap up to meet his fiery golden ones.

"Yes?" You murmur, lips still against the soft flesh of his hand, but he doesn't speak. You can feel his pulse quicken with every breath you take. He makes no move to detangle from you and this makes you feel powerful. He pulls you closer – almost as if he wants to absorb you into his skin, your bones into his blood.

With quickened breaths, his lips meet yours and your skin flushes at the contact, sending a deep tremble in the place below your bellybutton. He tastes better than you ever imagine – always clean, never dissatisfying, completely man.

You let go of his hands and wrap your own around his waist, one slipping up his chest tantalizingly slow. He slightly murmurs into your mouth – you almost think he's speaking your name. Like a prayer; one that can deliver him from sorrow and suffering.

His palms fumble up your back and cup your neck.

Lips intertwine; breaths – hot and damp – mingle. You break away for a moment, his golden orbs gaze at your curiously. Your soul feels exposed to these eyes and it makes you shiver.

"Ed," you whisper, "I'm glad–" but you choke on your words. Something sticks in your throat.

He continues to look at you, smoothing stray hair from your face, "What is it, sweetheart?" This term of endearment doesn't startle you anymore – Ed has become gentler than more people might think.

But you break eye contact, swallow, and feel your palms start to perspire.

He tries to softly coo to you, "You can tell me anything."

But you can't speak, so you smile, praying to have the courage to bring up such a sensitive subject.

You start again, "I'm glad… our lives turned out the way they did. Together with you, here, means more to me than anything."

His face flickers with multiple emotions before resting on placid, with lust-filled eyes.

"You know what?" He says, "I am too."

With this, he kisses you again… a deep kiss that leaves you seeing stars, curling your toes, and flames igniting between your legs. Hands grasp for each other, desperate for one another's touch.

Then you're traveling – your lips seek different areas of his skin: the underside of his chin, the sharp jaw line, his freshly-shaven cheeks, and the feeling south of your naval is intensifying.

Now you're in the air – he's carrying you swiftly up the stairs, with those deliciously-strong arms, down the tortuously long hallway into your shared bedroom. The smell of arousal is thick in the air. The door slams but that doesn't register.

Bodies fall against the newly-made bed and a shirt gets lost in the process.

His.

You rake your nails down his bare chest and he's chanting your name again. You feel his hands reach up and squeeze the tender flesh of your breast. Your breath hitches in your throat. Now your shirt unbuttons tantalizingly slow and you capture his lips again. He's blindly searching for your bra, but successfully unclasps it in a second. You smirk at how skilled he has become.

Now's he tweaking your nipples in his fingers before trailing his hot mouth down to capture your bud completely in one fluid motion. Your back arches and he keeps suckling – finding your tender spots instantly.

The sensation nearly throws you over the edge. Now it's your turn to you call out his name repeatedly.

This is going too slow.

You reach for his belt buckle and practically break it open. He nibbles you tenderly and you will your hands to move ten times faster. His fly is finally down, but the damn button is stuck. With a growl, you move his hands from your breasts and guide them to help you.

He stops with your chest and smirks up at you, "Need assistance?" His voice is deep and throaty, his breath hot, tickling your skin. Your arousal climbs steadily higher, but you whine in response. He gives your breast one last kiss before somehow whipping off his pants like unveiling a new prize. You're grateful as you reach into the stretch of his boxers and feel his aroused length. Now his breath is the one to catch and he nearly pants your name.

And then his boxers are gone and he's practically shouting your name now. Your fingers deftly grasp his shaft and you hold it gently. His hands squeeze your rear as you start to pump him tenderly. Up and down in fluid, continuous movements. You see his face twist with pleasure and you hear your name again. Breathy moans can be heard between you two, but you don't want him to lose it now.

For just a quick second, you lower yourself down and kiss his precious todger, slightly tasting the seed pooling out of it. But he pulls your face away and brings it to his lips. With bites and moans, you share together delightful and pleasant sensations. Finally, he grips your hips and nods if you're ready.

You grab his swollen length in response and help guide it between your legs. And you are connected. He thrusts in gently at first – it no longer hurts… it stopped being painful many years ago. And he tortuously pulls back, now you're the one chanting his name and other phrases. In and out he goes, gaining speed on a wave of ecstasy and pleasure that feels just right.

Now it's going fast and things are a blur as your hips are being gripped and you know there might be bruises. And then you're shouting his name to the heavens. Wailing it for anyone to hear because you're falling over the edge into the void of pure, concrete happiness – begging for so much more. Then he's screaming too, and you bite his skin as you feel the release and the adrenaline slowly start to dissipate. With shaky breaths he pulls out of you, spent with so much arousal. And you both collapse against the sheets together, stuck sticky to each other's skin. Breathless "I love you"'s are shared and everything feels just right.

In a moment, you are drifting to sleep; exhausted from such a sensual time again with the one you truly love. His fingers, damp from perspiration, trace up and down your back, swirling over the muscles and veins hidden under your skin. This rhythmic pattern lulls you so far into relaxation; it's getting harder and harder to open your eyes with every blink.

And then you're gone.

You're in a faraway place now. Not dead, just dreaming.

Floating somewhere above a house – a house so familiar, as if it's from a distant memory, but wait, there's the swing on the tree… it's their house, the house where Auntie Trisha died, the house where Ed and Al lived alone for a while, refusing to come out until supper because they were so devoted to their alchemy. That house that burned down. But it's magically there now, surrounded by billowing clouds and a thunderstorm threatening to wash away everyone.

You fly closer, ducking under the porch beam and through the door. You can't find Ed and Al anywhere, until you hear hushed voices in the basement. Lightning flashes and thunder booms, reverberating in your eardrums. Goose bumps rise on your flesh as you cautiously approach the slightly ajar door.

"You ready?" A familiar, young voice asks.

"Ready." Replies the other familiar, young voice.

You look inside and see a giant intricate, alchemic circle on the floor, in the center lay a bunch of ingredients, and then you spot little Ed and Al. Your heart swells and you want to rush forward to them – warn them not to do anything, you want to protect them. Because you remember this night, it all comes back to you – the account Edward and Alphonse reluctantly told you about what they did all those years ago. But you're mute and your body doesn't move as you watch first hand as they cut their small fingers and squeeze drops of their own blood on the mass in the center. You will yourself to make any type of noise to distract them, but then they're pressing their hands to the circle and you see the garish flash of electricity before you – blinding you almost instantaneously.

Their faces are excited; the mass in the center seems to be forming into something. But everything goes horribly wrong. Rain pelts angrily against the roof and the thunder shouts in protest to their performance of the taboo.

You can feel tears pour down your face as a giant, grey eye opens in the center of the circle, black arms rising and reaching out for your friends. They're merciless as they tear apart Ed and Al's bodies. Muted sobs rack your body; you desperately try to reach out for them, praying they can stop this and be alright.

A flash of light erupts from the middle, and the boys disappear for a moment. You're shrieking helplessly, but it's no use – Ed returns, but his left leg is missing and there are huge amounts of blood pooling around where it should be. But there's something stirring in the middle of the room, it's ghastly and deformed – a creature straight from the bowels of hell. Ed's eyes stare in pure horror as the abomination reaches out to him, wheezing, before dying itself.

Your heart breaks as he searches for Alphonse, as he painfully cries out his name. He continues shrieking as he tries to create a makeshift bandage for the remnants of his leg. You see the scattered clothes and shoes worn by Al and you feel more stabs at your heart. Edward is screaming more, dragging himself over to a toppled suit of armor. There's too much blood, and it's thick and you have an overwhelmingly intense desire to throw up and cry.

Now Ed is screaming that Al is all he has and suddenly there's another flash of light and Ed is gone again, only to return with a missing right arm. Your heart is in your ankles, your throat dry and achy, eyes puffy.

You watch as Ed passes out from the pain and the suit of armor slowly sits up. You have never felt more horrible than you do now as Alphonse recognizes it's himself. In terror, the armor reaches out for Edward, clutching him to his chest. Awkwardly and hurriedly, he barrels out of the basement, past you, out the door and into the rain storm to your house. You follow with the most pain in your heart.

You see Alphonse pound heavily upon the door, supporting Edward's frail body, blood still gushing everywhere. Your grandmother opens the door, gasping at the sight of a kneeling knight holding an unconscious Ed.

Granny questions who it is, and Alphonse calls out frantically, "_It's __**me**__, Granny! It's __**ME**__! Alphonse! Please help Brother!"_

You no longer register anything. You are screaming; screaming into a white void. Your body feels torn apart and you pray to every god to take away the pain that they just went through.

Nothing happens, but you continue to scream.

"Wake up!" Strong, callused hands press on your shoulders roughly, shaking you with determined movements.

Your eyes painfully open, not registering where you are. But then you see him… you see your Edward, leaning over you, fingers gripping both of your shoulders, frightened and full of anxiety at the sight of you.

You desperately reach out and touch his face, sobbing uncontrollably… like the day you learned Scar killed your parents. But this crying is different. You saw what happened. You have changed.

Edward crushes you to his chest, begging you to tell him what's wrong, but you can't breathe. Your body shakes violently and you try to absorb him into your skin. You want to be reassured that he is fine, that he feels no pain. You cling to his body like sweat on skin.

"Please tell me what's wrong," he hisses over and over to you, burying his face in your hair, iron grip strangely comforting against your bones.

Your sobs slowly quiet and your breathing is haggard, but you manage to pull away and look up into his troubled golden eyes.

"I had a nightmare and I saw you… I saw you and Al try to bring back your mother… I dreamed about that night. I saw everything. God! There was so much blood! So much pain! I feel awful that that happened to you two! I'm so sorry! I feel so wretched! I'm so sorry! If I had just paid more attention to you! Made more of an effort to get your mind off your mother's death, maybe things would have been different! God! It… it was awful! I'm so sorry!" You start crying again, and Edward somehow holds you tighter.

"Why would you ever feel guilt about something that was our choice?" His words are fierce and the sound of them wrap around you like a security blanket.

"I wish I would have been better for you." You whimper as the tears slide from your puffy eyes down to your swollen lips.

Edward brings your face in his hands and jerks you to look at him dead in the face, "_You_ have _no reason _to apologize, do you hear me?" His tone is sharp and strong. Furious, smoldering, golden orbs bore into you, waiting for an answer. You continue crying as you nod. His eyes keep their intensity as he goes on, never missing a beat, "Al and I missed our mother and we thought we could be God. We wanted to bring her back. No matter of convincement could have changed our minds. It touches me that you care so deeply about this, but you have no right to be sad about something that happened in the past. I did everything in my power to fix the things I destroyed. I brought back Alphonse in his human body even though the dumbass used himself to give me back my right arm. You have no need to worry about these things. Everything is okay now. Please don't feel guilt and sorrow on my account. Don't _ever_ say _you're_ sorry. If that never would have happened, things would have turned out a lot differently. And you know what? I wouldn't change anything for the world. I'm with you now, together, and that is one of the greatest things in my life. I love you more than you know. More than you could even comprehend. I love you and I am thankful for you. _Please_… let me take care of you so you never feel that way again."

You feel so comforted by his words; your heart slowly mends as he stares down at you for a while before kissing you like you're the only source of oxygen on the planet. With this kiss, it makes you feel better… it makes you feel whole. He kisses your tears away as his palms spread wide over your bare back.

You think you might be ready for another round of lovemaking. Edward has the exact same idea.


End file.
